


Two Gifts

by BlackQat



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angsty angsty angst, Drama & Romance, Explicit Loving "Vanilla" Sex, F/M, Grief, Mourning, Past Rape/Non-con, Rage, Separations, divergence from canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-20 16:25:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13721535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackQat/pseuds/BlackQat
Summary: They're at Starfleet Post-Graduate Training. He's handsome as hell. She's unaware of her own charms. But she learns to trust him.Until years later, she doesn't.With many thanks to Linstock and LadyFangs, for help telling it right.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CO - Commanding Officer  
> CTC - Command Training Course. Post-OCS, Post-grad Academy  
> DASH - Displacement Activated Spore Hub -Formal designation of Discovery's "spore drive"  
> OCS - Officer Candidate School. In today's services, college graduates and post-docs can attend a four-month indoctrination into the Mysterious Ways of the Service. I figure Starfleet has the same thing; it's at Starfleet Academy, and in some courses students rub shoulders with regular cadets.  
> SERE Training - Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape. Operational personnel attend these courses if their capture is likely in the course of their work. Which I imagine would be almost every Starfleet officer traveling anywhere.
> 
> Ring-knockers, otherwise known as Zeros [ranks are 0-1, Ensign, thru 0-8/9, Admirals] and the proper, Officers. 
> 
> Bodega Bay - a lovely area north of San Francisco. Bodega Head is on the edge of the Pacific and is as described.
> 
> Cornwell's education - In my stories she was bright enough to graduate at 17, attend a combined Pre-Med into Medical School [6 years], then go on to Residency at Starfleet Academy Medical [3 years]; specialties: Psychiatry, Xenopsychology, Emergency Medicine, Xenophysiology, General Practice M.D. She is attending CTC because she wants to sail on a ship, or work on a forward starbase.

She noticed him the first day.

How could she help it?

She’s 27 years old; he’s 23. He’s been on the starship Liu Yang for a year, in Operations, and come back with his CO’s recommendation for the Command Training Course. She’s attending as a newly minted Ensign just out of OCS at the Academy, a Federation-licensed Psychiatrist, who wants to serve on the medical staff of any forward Starbase or any deep space starship.

He’s sharing his analysis of the book they were assigned, Sun Tzu’s _The Art of War_. He seems to approve. She isn’t really hearing his whole presentation because she’s distracted by his presence. And that baritone voice.

A confident walk, a good male mesomorphic form – almost like an ancient Greek Kouros – tall, broad shouldered. A handsome, chiseled face with blue eyes the color of tropical waters ... yadda, yadda, yadda, she can just hear Mom say “oh stop _swooning_.” He’s a classic, in other words, with a flashing smile that hints of devilment. It’s the way it curves at one side of his mouth. Black hair with a bit that flops over at the front. And, lest it be forgotten, he has a _very_ fine ass.

_Cripes, I’m older than he is and I have a crush on him. Well, here at last is my first adult flowering of deep sexual desire._

Other women and some men are checking him out. But there are a number of quite handsome guys who are not Lorca. A few not so handsome, but they have other charms.

Lieutenant Junior Grade [“call them ‘Lieutenant’”] Lorca’s voice has a little Southern twang, which comes out more when he’s challenged or stressed. They were in an accident simulation recently and he was droppin’ Gs left and right. Inwardly she gives that _nngghhh!_ of desire when she hears it. “Dead sexy,” she’s heard at least one female say. _Okay, I’m just four years older. What the hell._

Herself, she doesn’t feel so damn cute, or appealing. There are women here with perfect figures and incredibly beautiful faces, who are also brilliant. A few of them are friendly.

Yeah, she has thick brown hair with blonde and chestnut streaks, clear grey eyes that can shade to blue or hazel green, and good bone structure. She has a trim figure, which actually means very fit and slender, with small breasts.

And an overbite, which makes her shy of saying words with a pronounced S in them, because it comes out not so clearly but too soft. Not quite a lisp, but still. Her dad thought it was cute, but her stepmom would wince, or worse, say, “She Sells SeaSHells by the SeaSHore.” Kat’s getting over it at the Academy though, because “Starfleet,” “star chart,” “astronomical,” and “some kind of” are pretty frequently used words here. She cannot show a lack of confidence in any way.

.

.

They’re at a club off campus, a group of the Command Training Course officers celebrating the end of their first two weeks, Phase I, when Lorca sidles up to her at the bar. She’s had some brief conversations with other people. One is a civilian who can’t understand why an attractive woman would join Starfleet and leave all the prime male specimens of Homo Sapiens behind on Earth. “Guess you don’t know much about the men in Starfleet, then,” she smiles easily, and he departs in a huff.

Some cadets and officers stop to chat, and when they find out she’s a psychiatrist, they are either embarrassed and find an excuse to leave, or they try to prove their own acumen at “reading people.” Kat doesn’t explain that it’s not exactly what she does in her profession, it’s merely one tool; she just nods solemnly with an occasional smile, as if she were acting in her professional capacity. Sometimes they tell her hair-raising stories and ask what the long-term effects of the accident, tragedy, or spectacular fall will be.

So Lorca’s a breath of fresh air. Until he says, “You’re a psychiatrist, right?” Those blue eyes, gazing at her.

Her stomach gets a flutter, and not in a good way. “Right. Yes. I am.”

He nods and swallows some of his drink. “So that’s why they call you ‘Doc.’” He extends a hand. “Care to dance?”

She does. And it’s fun, he’s a good dancer, freer in the hips than she is.

They and go out for coffee afterward and chat for hours. They have similar views on the place of Starfleet within the body politic of the Federation; on leadership, on music, and both like history. He likes to run, and since she does too, they meet the next morning and run together. She’s light and fast and he’s bigger and long-legged, so they manage to keep a fair pace with each other. They begin dating, usually meeting for coffee on campus or off, rowing in Golden Gate Park, or jogging on the beach. They go sailing on San Francisco Bay. Both are good at it. They share some light kisses, but Kat is shy about it, and Gabriel is sensitive to that, thank god he doesn’t take it personally in a negative way.

One morning after a run, they arrive at the Bachelor Officer Quarters, about to split up to shower and change into their uniforms for the day, when he says, in a rush, “I booked a room in Bodega Bay for the weekend. Would you like to go with me?”

She’s staggered for a minute and looks at him while trying to find words.

He blinks. “I mean, sorry, it’s got two beds. I just ....” He looks down for a moment, getting up his nerve, then smiles a little, with a certain light in his eyes that’s pure joy. “I think we’d have fun. There are great hikes, redwoods not far away, a beach to walk on when the tide is right, good restaurants, and a jazz club….” A long pause. “I’m being incredibly presumptuous to even ask, especially at the last minute. You could just tell me to fuck off.”

“N-no,” she squeaks. “Don’t fuck off.”

He cocks an eyebrow. She very nearly laughs at his expression, but looks up at the chrono on the wall and says, “I have to get moving, can we talk later?”

.

.

Up until now, they’ve called each other by their last names, as is customary in Starfleet between equals on a familiar footing.

_“Cornwell, wait up!”_

_“Where the hell have you been, Lorca?”_

_“I tripped!”_

But here they are, off the Academy for a three-day weekend, in foggy, chilly Bodega Bay, walking along a path at Bodega Head, with the mist in their faces, a fresh chill breeze with gusts, and ocean waves booming against the cliffs. She braided her hair at the room so she wouldn’t have to keep swiping it off her face.

She looks at Lorca, just the longish top of his black hair ruffling in the wind, no hair whipping into his eyes, and thinks again about cutting her hair short. She wonders if he’d like it. She decides she likes it as it is, not only because it’s easier to manage but because he seems to like it long too. A couple of weeks ago he said, “I like the colors in your hair. They really show up in the sun.” He reached out a hand, and she willed herself to stay still as he touched it.

The wind here has come up and it’s as noisy as the inside of a dance club. There’s no bass beat, but a thrumming in the wind. She touches his arm and he turns toward her. “It seems weird to be here and not use first names,” she says, loudly, just as the breeze lessens.

“Okay,” he says in the same loud tone, and she cracks up. “Please call me Gabriel. Or Gabe.”

“Don’t call me Katrina. Just call me Kat.”

They ramble a while and Kat realizes her hands are getting cold. She chafes them a bit and Gabriel notices, stopping, turning, and folding his big, warm hands around hers.

And it’s okay.


	2. Chapter 2

.

They’re sipping coffee on the balcony outside their room. Kat takes a deep breath and says, “I’m surprised at myself for coming up here alone with you.”

He frowns, then raises his eyebrows in a “why?” gesture.

“But for some reason, I trust you. I don’t trust men, as a rule.” A sustaining, long sip of coffee, and she continues. “I don’t think I’m ready for any ….”

He puts up a hand and shakes his head. “I didn’t intend to seduce you this weekend.” Smiling gently. “Though I’d like to, but only if you lead. Not a psychiatrist, but I read human body language pretty well, even at my tender age.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I want to be with you, but just platonically for now.” Finally meeting his eyes. “I am attracted to you, very much, but, fair warning, I need time. Maybe a lot of time. I don’t know right now.”

“Okay,” he says, and reaches out a hand to hold hers.

Later, sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, watching the flames, Kat says, “I love this.” They’ve been sitting, holding hands, but Gabriel breaks off to lift his arm.

She takes his hand and puts his arm around her, snuggling into his side, her head on his shoulder.

The weekend passes too quickly. They have reading to do for the CTC, but find time to hike the hills above the ocean, walk the tops of the cliffs, and go to visit the redwoods, inspiring for their longevity and beauty and fresh scent. They drink and dance at the jazz club on Saturday night after eating out, casual family style in an Italian place.

Monday the weather is blustery outside, so they stay inside, with the fireplace. Kat lights a fire as expertly as Gabriel does. The warm gold light plays over the room as they sit comfortably together on the couch, reading the last of their assignments for tomorrow. They discuss the reading, and when they get to one point, Gabriel says impatiently, “That’s bullshit.”

“What about first contact protocols is bullshit?”

Gabriel springs up off the couch, facing her, enthusiasm for debate in his eyes. “That’s what communications officers are _for_. They’re _experts_ , they’re not just there to be a CO-comms interface. Forfucksake, Starfleet Command really needs to change that.” He paces, gesticulating. “Our communications officer on the Liu Yang has twelve languages, eight of them alien, and great facility with a Universal Translator. You still have to interpret some of the translations, with an understanding of what words mean in the particular culture, as modeled on similar cultures encountered previously. At least you have a running start that way. To put a CO whose specialty is Operations on a planet with just a UT is utter bullshit.”

“But xenoanthropoligists study cultures.”

He whirls toward her, enthusiasm for debate all afire. “ _Yes_ , but do they study cultural-linguistic congruence?”

“Not specifically. You have a point,” she says, and he raises his arms in a “victory!” gesture. “So introduce it, through your CO, to Starfleet Command.”

He makes a face and flops onto the couch. “Oh. I did _that_ months and months ago.”

“Fresh out of the Academy? No CO likes a smartass.” She leans over to give him a kiss. “So I hear. But personally, I like your smart ass.”

“I like yours too.” He puts his arm around her and she snuggles into his side, her head on his shoulder. “Mmm, your hair smells good.”

Her arms slip around him. “You smell pretty nice yourself.”

“It’s my soap.” He kisses the top of her head. “No, actually, it’s all _me_. All the cadets say so. They follow in my wake, worshipfully sniffing the air.”

She pulls away from him. “I guarantee you will become a starship captain.”

His brows go up in that way she loves. “Oh? Because of my sterling leadership skills?”

She rolls her eyes. “No. Your _ego_.”

“Ah, yes. It is the best, the finest ego in all the land.”

She kisses his cheek. “I don’t know about that, it’s pretty far up there, but I think it’s your _ass_ that is the finest in all the land.”

“But asses don’t make good ship captains.”

“They don’t?”

“No. Have you ever _met_ Captain Terral?”

.

They get back to the Academy just in time on Tuesday. Gabriel says, “I don’t generally like rules and I hate arbitrary deadlines, but I’ve learned to get along with them in Starfleet.” He looks at her and she meets his eyes. “All this by way of saying, I’d sure like to have had more time with you.”

“I knew it! Always thought you were the rebellious type.” She takes his hand and holds it between both of hers. “I’m glad we had the long weekend. I'd have liked a longer time too.”

After checking to see no one is watching, he raises her hand to his mouth and kisses it, and she bounces up to give him a brief, soft kiss, and they go to their respective rooms to change into uniform.

.

Next weekend is all simulations, designed to test tolerance of stress, thus requiring the sacrifice of time off, because most of the students are disgruntled to start with (except the three Vulcans). The Andorians and Tellarites, from less temperate races, are visibly ticked off.

During one simulation they each have to lead a brief conference in an urgent situation; a problem is presented, a team does quick research and proposes a solution. A Vulcan ensign presenting a solution begins explaining minutiae and everyone else exchanges subtle glances. One Tellarite, Gaveen, growls a little. Lorca, leading this conference, raises a hand in a casual wave and says, “Mister Solin, might I ask you to get to the point? If we want more details, we’ll ask for them.”

Solin says stiffly, “You may, Lieutenant Lorca. In answer to your _pertinent_ question … the ship will explode in 8.75 minutes if we do not repair the warp drive control relays at Juncture 110, section A2.”

“Thank you. Let’s get to work, people!”

.

Sunday they are still working at midnight. Lorca bends to speak into Cornwell’s ear. “Would you like to take a break next weekend in Fiji or Hawaii?”

“Um.” Again he’s caught her by surprise. “I’ll get back to you, Gabriel. This is taking every bit of concentration.”

He nods at the chart she’s working on and whispers so no one else can hear. “You’re absolutely right until you get to grid mark Zulu 4-5.”

“Oh, shit.” She looks up into his mischievous eyes. “You aren’t messing with me, are you?”

He whispers again. “No … but I am kinda breakin’ the rules.”

.

“Hawaii,” she says on Monday.

“Good choice. Volcanoes, waterfalls and rainbows in the mist. Not to mention the surfing.”

“And sailing, I hope.”

He sketches a salute. “O Captain, my Captain. At your service, sir.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sunset was exquisite, peach and lavender clouds and a golden sun spreading its path over the ocean while they ravenously ate dinner outdoors. She wore a pareo over her swimsuit; he wore a shirt that gave her a glimpse of dark chest hair. _Swoon._

Now, it’s sapphire-skied full dusk; they’re on the lanai by their room, still in their swimsuits, sipping drinks with umbrellas, fruit, and lots of rum. Gabriel reaches over and playfully tucks an umbrella into her damp hair. They’re just drinking and desultory.

“You’re one hell of a surfer,” he says. “I’m a little jealous.”

“I love it. It takes so much concentration, it’s like meditation.”

“When you don’t have any clumsy idiots getting in your way, that is.”

“Hey, there were no collisions, kookie,” she says. “I forgive you. And you are getting better at it.”

“…Getting in your way?”

“Surfing, goofball.” She stands up, feeling restless. “Feel like getting a drink on the beach? Or going for a walk?”

“Let’s walk,” he says, “ _With_ drinks.”

They opt for coconut-pineapple slushy things from the drinks stand, and amble down the beach.

“Oh my gosh,” Kat says, pointing. “See that?”

Some way off, there’s a bright red-gold streak of magma flowing over dark rock.

“Come on,” says Gabriel. “Let’s get a closer look.”

They step carefully in their flip-flops, going at a gradual angle up the granite to avoid any heat, and from their lookout point, watch the orange-bright glare cutting through and moving over the rock formations below.

As it gets to the sea, the lava flows in, clouds of steam erupting from its entry into the deep ocean. Gabriel feels a similarity between it and himself: burning hot and bright, dropping into depths he doesn’t yet know.

.        

It’s full dark now, and, having washed away the day’s crust of brine from her hair and body, Kat comes out of the shower wearing a robe, her hair all dried by the sonics she turned on at the last. Gabe looks up from a PADD. “Surely you’re not _working,_ ” she mock-chides him, and bends to kiss the top of his head. “Yikes, I thought _I_ was salty.”

He pulls her in for a kiss on the mouth. After they break it off, Kat motions to the bathroom and says, “Off ye go now, me briny ol’ tar,” and she has a seat out on the lanai as he goes in to shower. The soft breeze is flower-scented with an overtone of ocean, and feels fantastic on her face. There are a million stars out, gleaming brightly. But her insides are tense, almost shaking.

She takes some deep breaths and concentrates as best she can to calm herself. It’s hard, because her mind is jumping all over Gabriel Lorca. She is deeply attracted to him as she’s never been attracted to a man. And she has no fear of him.

It’s his maturity, his confidence. His sense of humor, and the thread of compassion he keeps under the surface, but which she has seen in their CTS classes (in between his acerbic remarks). He helps those weaker than himself, but doesn’t _pity_ them. He respects others. And for Kat individually, he has been kind and fun and a good friend. He has listened to her self-doubts and affirmed her strengths.

But right now her mind is jumping around in her memories.

Her _tragic story_. She hates telling it, like trotting it out for sympathy, but she has to. She hopes he won’t _pity_ her. He has to know what he’s getting into. That her responses to him may not be what he expects or hopes for.

It’s funny; as impatient as he can be at CTS, Gabe is very patient with her.

She decides, and releases a long breath. _Yes, with Gabe, I’ll be all right._

When he comes out of the shower, robed and rubbing his head with a towel, she’s sitting on the edge of his bed. (Hers is left as she found it, perfectly made up by the hotel staff.) She stands up as he finishes drying his hair and slowly slips off and drops her robe.

“Oh,” he says. “You’re lovely.” He comes to her, his arms open, and she steps into the shelter of him. She unties and slips his robe off, too. Suddenly she feels awkward and stupid, but he tilts her chin up and kisses her face as her eyes overflow with tears.

He snuggles her into his chest and sways a tiny bit, as if they’re dancing, but he’s kind of rocking her, and she feels comforted. His warm skin, silkening against her own … this is a delightful sensation, and there are little contrasts. The hair on his torso. A slight rasp of beard.

“When I first met you,” she finally says, “I had no idea you would be like this. Patient, gentle.”

“I can be just the opposite in class, huh.”

She looks up with a small smile and nods.

“Let’s sit,” he says, kissing near her eyes where the tears left traces. She moves a little apart from him and reaches out a hand to cup his cheek. He leans into it and still looking at her, says, “How do you want this to go?” 

 “Slowly. “

“Are you sure --?”

She nods. “I’m sure. I want to try ... but please forgive me if I have to stop.”

“I will.” He takes her hand from his cheek, and kisses her knuckles, then the inside of her wrist, then her palm. Then each fingertip.

She shivers.

“Okay?”

She nods, thrilling inside at his touches.

He leans in, kisses her face again, and pauses at her mouth. Her lips meet his. He’s gentle and breaks it off to kiss her earlobes. His breath tickles in her ear and she shivers a little. “Okay?” he says.

“Okay.”

His lips move to her neck, her throat, her collarbones, her shoulders, and she’s tilting her head, baring her throat. But she starts breathing hard, not in a good way, so he stops to hold her close. Kat moves and kisses his mouth, then parts from him again. She’s trembling.

“Is it okay if we …?  I … I need to break off for a while.” She sees his erection and blushes. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a dink about it.”

He says, grinning, “I promise you, one of these will be available later, should you want it.”

“Right now I’d like to take a breather and have some coffee, is that …?”

He smiles, nodding, and holds up her robe so she can slip it on, then puts on his own. “I’ll make it. See you outside.” His expression is a little strange. She can almost see him thinking, _down, boy, down!_ and she cracks up.

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

His eyes are kind. “Don’t be. Remember, in this, you lead.”

She goes out to sit.

_A very trustworthy thing to say._

_You shouldn’t be such a cock-teaser, Ka-tri-na._

_I am not ‘Katrina’ any more. I am not powerless. I am strong in myself even though memories shake me._

She’s breathing deeply, and talking back to her negative inner voices.

_And why shouldn’t I trust him? He’s a fellow officer, bound by our code of conduct, and if… if …. I’ll kick his ass then report him._

Because Kat knows Tai Chi now, the art of using someone’s own force against them.

_Unless he has a knife. Ka-treeee-na._

“Oh forfucksake,” she mutters out loud.

Gabriel clears his throat, startles her.

“Here you are,” he says, giving her a mug of coffee. “Black as sin … hot as hell … and sweet as love.”

She takes the mug, and breathes in the soothing aroma. “Not to spoil your old Spanish saying, but can I get some cream?”

“Hang on.” He ducks inside and comes out with a little cream pitcher. It looks funny in his large hand. “Say when.”

She nods and takes a pull. “Mmm. You did good.”

“Thanks.” He sits and slowly sips, enjoying the coffee, looking out to the ocean. Giving her space.

She breathes in deeply but her abdominal muscles feel trembly.

At the sound of her shaky exhale, Gabriel extends his hand. She touches it, but her fingers tremble. “This is so hard.”

“It’s okay. You lead here, Kat. I can wait.”

“You need to know about it.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t hav—”

She stands up by the railing and facing him, looks into his eyes. “Yes. I do,” she says firmly. “I want to tell you. So you understand.”

She swallows and turns a bit to look out toward the sea, the wind in her hair. She does not want to cry, not now.

He stands up nearby so he can hear her and she doesn’t need to look at him. He clearly understands her discomfort with the telling.

“One summer when I was thirteen years old I hung out with these two older boys, we went surfing all the time. They showed me a lot of tricks, the best way to angle down the face of a wave, and the best way to wax my surfboard, and they cheered me on when I caught my first big wave. They were nice.

“After sunset one day, they took me to a shack on the beach. They had something to show me. They said it was a secret.” She doesn’t look at Gabriel. “What 13-year-old girl can resist a secret? I thought they were my friends, so I went with them.” She swallows tears and her voice is strained.

“I said I didn’t understand why they were locking the door and they laughed and looked at each other. I finally figured out what was up, and I screamed and tried to kick the door out. I fought so h-hard. They pinned me down … one h-had a knife.”

Gabriel makes a small noise, deep in his throat.

“They took … took turns at me. I passed out.” Kat’s trying to get back to a matter-of-fact tone. But she can’t. Her voice is going shaky and her throat is clogging. “I was hurt very badly.”

Tears are slipping down her face. She needs time to regroup, and puts out her hand for Gabriel to take. He is gentle with it, he could be cradling an injured bird. She is silent for minutes, and squeezing his hand, separates from him and sits back down.

Gabe’s still standing but doesn’t want to loom over her. He moves a step away down the railing, leaning his hip on it, looking at Kat.

“My parents stood by me, and so did my friends. I was well cared for. The boys went to Corrections. Acquaintances and classmates gossiped though, and that hurt; there’s not a thing that happens without everyone knowing about it by comms or holo in seconds.”

She’s not aware of the way her hand touches her neck as she talks. But Lorca sees the movement and the deep gulping breath that follows, and understands.

“After, I learned ways to protect myself. I learned Tai Chi. I practiced caution. Waited before I trusted people, and figured out how to really see what people are thinking. How to read signs. How not to be hurt again.”

She looks up and Gabriel’s eyes are red. His voice is gravelly when he says, “Oh, Kat. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It wasn’t you.” She finishes her coffee in a couple of gulps. Then her eyes meet his and she says, “I wanted tell you so you’ll understand, _really_ understand -- please never hold me down. Never pin my hands.”

He shakes his head, as if to say, _That’s not my style._

She unconsciously rubs her wrist.  “And don’t ever ….” She puts her hand over her throat, fingers splayed and the thumb pressing under her jaw, her eyes bright with tears.

He looks away and his jaw tightens, biting back what he’d say to those boys.

“Promise me, Gabriel.” Kat’s gaze is compelling, demanding a response. 

He turns back to her and nods.  “I promise.”

She nods in return, her posture relaxing, and leans back in the chair, gusting out a sigh.  He sits down beside her and they hold hands, listening to the tall waves crashing to shore, the susurration of each wave’s ebbing. 

.

Later she says, “Would you hold me tonight? Just …”

 “… Just hold you. Yes.”

They go in and brush their teeth, and he kisses her once, lightly, on the mouth, a benison.

In bed he holds her close as she curls in toward him, her head on his shoulder, her hand resting on his naked stomach, his hand over hers.

He doesn’t snore, but, toward morning, lying on her back, she does.


	4. Chapter 4

Brightness is seeping in past the wooden blinds. Kat senses Gabriel waking up and ducking off to the bathroom. It seems like he’s gone a while, but she’s very drowsy and wakes up again later, looks for her robe. He hears her moving around. “You snore,” he says from the bathroom.

She goes in to brush her teeth, admiring his nude form. “Oh, that is _not_ possible. My roommate would have told me. She’s a little too much like my mother.”

“It’s a cute snore,” he insists, as he finishes shaving. “Just a little tiny …” and he imitates it. “By the way, my roommate says I snore like a chainsaw.”

“He’s a liar. Unless you snore in the BOQ because the air’s lousy in your room or something.” She puts her arms around him.

“Hmmm, could be. The only time he cleans his side of the room is before inspection. How’s the air in your room?”

“Ugh. My roommate wears too much perfume, so I keep the window open. All the time.”

“That’s a thought.”

“Opening the window?”

He waggles his eyebrows. “Wearing perfume.”

“But people walk in your wake just to smell you, remember?” Tweaking him as she did at Bodega Bay, and winking. “You always smell good.”

“Thanks, but come on, not after I run.”

“True.”

He traces her face with a finger. “You have cute dimples.” He kisses one.

She touches the corner of his mouth. “You too. And a noble nose.”

“Seriously? I always thought, ‘BIG.’”

“Nope. Noble. Nothing like a gorgeous, big-nosed man. And you know what they say about men with big noses.”

He raises his eyebrows as she guides him to sit on the bed, then lays him down, and lies next to him. He says, “We have better senses of smell?”

She grins, skimming her hand from his chest downward to his groin, touching his penis, which is rising. Gabe hisses in a breath.

“This is nice ....” She runs her fingertips down his length, and he jumps. She smiles and kisses his mouth.

Lightly.

Then thoroughly.

Then deeply.

 And they are kissing like there’s no tomorrow, drinking each other in.

.

.

He’s kissing her face and throat and she guides his hand to her breast and he caresses her there while he kisses down to the other, and tongues her nipple until she arches her back, groaning.  She guides his hand lower, lower; he kisses her stomach, then back up to her breasts, and his hand slowly massages her lower abdomen and then her pubic mound, all around the outer labia, tiny circles, enlivening the nerves that lead to her clitoris.

“It’s more than just the little man in the boat,” he murmurs.

“Mmm, yes. Yes it is.” She moans a little.

His fingers slip inside to the wet outside of the inner labia, still doing tiny circles, occasionally "slipping" and stroking her clit, while his fingers are massaging that spot inside. His mouth is busy at her breasts, suckling and tickling and gently nibbling one, then the other, then moving to kiss her collarbone. And back downward. Kat’s heels are beginning to press into the mattress as she rises to meet his gentle insistence. She doesn’t open her eyes but can feel him looking at her, he’s making little sounds himself, and she feels his hardness at her hip, satin smooth, and she wants to growl at him to come in _now_ , but the sensations his hand is giving her are so slowly building and delightful … she’s tingly all over, she feels alive there in a way she hasn’t since she was in early adolescence, before ....

He feels her tense up and says, “Are you okay?”

“Oh my …” She swallows. “I hit a snag there, but I think if I just … go with the sensation, and your presence, I’ll be all right.”

He kisses her mouth, “Kat …” and continues doing the lovely things … the tiny circles … he gently puts his finger inside her, curling it so he can massage her inner spot, and she feels a deep thrum somewhere within, upward of it. He moves down her body so he can put his mouth where his hand is, on her, and now it’s his tongue making slow circles around, then zeroing in on, her clit, and she groans and feels a sensation of lightness, like floating, then an intensity there that spreads all over. “Oh … ” She tosses her head and feels a shivering from there spreading through her center … “Gabriel …” And she’s arching into him and crying with the joy of it, and slowly it recedes like a wave. “You taste so good,” he says. “I’ll be back up in a minute.” He keeps tonguing and fingering, gently, and she comes a second time, unbelieving and grateful.

He’s kissing her throat, and her jawline. She reaches for his ass, urging him to come inside, and he raises himself up on his elbows, one hand in her hair, one on her face. He’s deeply kissing her mouth, and she is passionate in kind.

“Guide me in,” he says, though she suspects he wouldn’t have trouble, and she brings her hand to him and he slides in partway, the corona bumping a little as he enters her. He’s going slowly, and gradually she accommodates his girth. The sensation of him moving inside and his warmth atop her and all his loving touches is something she has never felt, and she is so grateful.

He thrusts deeper in, still moving slowly, but now in and out.

“Mmm.” She whispers something in his ear.

 He murmurs, “Like this?”

“…  Oh! that’s it ….”

“Kat,” he murmurs, low and raspy, and his breath begins to hitch and their hips very gradually begin   meeting faster and faster. They’re both starting to sweat. She’s making little noises like grunts or sighs or some combination. She’s sure it’s ridiculous, _but aren’t we all, really?_ And there is nothing ridiculous about the pure sensation vibrating through her core. She has never felt anything … so … good.

She makes another noise, a sort of delighted moan, and knows everything of her is in everything of him. And his eyebrows go up and his eyes meet hers for a long, suspended moment. The pure sensation is melting into an emotion she can’t identify, something ineffably sweet and fleeting. She feels, sees, knows, there’s an expansion of light within him and her that is joining. And he’s breathing fast, and she feels him shaking and there’s a pulsing inside her, and he sighs, a long groan of an exhale. He’s holding her tenderly.

“Kat. Kat I love you.” He raises up to kiss her face and his eyes are wet, and hers are too.

“Oh I love you, I love you, my Gabriel.” She caresses his brow, and they spend a drowsy time just looking into each other’s eyes, desultorily kissing.

He smiles, a little trembly smile. “Thank you for your trust in me.”

“I’m glad I could trust you. I …this ….” But she has no more words.

Later, he says, “I wish we could be here forever.”

“Me too.”

Gabe hugs her tight, then lies on his side next to her, faced in, his hand on her stomach, the other arm curving over her head, and sleeps. As for Kat, she’s lying on her back with one hand on his hip and the other on top of his hand. She doesn’t mind lying on the wet spot. It’s warm still, and it’s her first, and it smells like commingling herself with him. With that scent, and the scent of Gabe next to her breathing softly, and her gratitude for him and the gift of love and care he has given her … with thanks for her responsive body, she falls into a deep, dark velvet-soft, easy sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

“LIEUTENANT LORCA! REPORT FOR DUTY!”

He literally jumps out of bed, then realizes where he is. Kat is at the foot of the bed, dressed in a string bikini with a shirt over it, sunglasses up on her head, hair braided tightly. She is cracking up laughing.  “The look on your face!”

He runs his hands through his hair, and snorts. “What time is it?”

“Time to go sailing. Can’t stay in bed _all_ day.”

.

The light catamaran skips over the waves and its speed on wind and water gives them both a rush. “She heels up very nicely,” Gabriel grins, as they sail along on one hull, boat at a perfect 45-degree inclination, their bodies straight out in that plane, torsos balanced above the water racing by a meter below the upper hull.

“I know, right? I love sailing in sloops, but this is my favorite.”

After an hour or so, they find a cove for swimming, take down the sail, beach the boat. Kat unrolls the large tatami mat she had lashed to the canvas “deck” of the catamaran, and spreads a towel on top of it. She breaks out some cold water, takes a deep draught, and hands the thermal bottle to Gabe. He drinks gratefully. “Sailing is thirsty work,” he says.

They strip naked, run to the water, and wade in, dousing each other, diving and swimming like water creatures, then make love. The currents between them are thrilling but the water dulls a few sensations and the occasionally flailing limb makes things a bit awkward.

“Not quite as nice in the water,” she says after, as they’re splashing, wading in to the beach.

“Oh, come _on_.”

“No,” she says and then in the tone of a snotty food critic, “There is too little contrast in texture and sensation, rendering the moisture in the two bodies moot." She squints up at him. "And besides … _flailing_.”

He snorts, grinning. “You are fucking kidding me.”

“Kind of. And kind of, not. Our skin feels silkier, though, so that was nice.” They walk up the beach to sit on the tatami, and drink more water.

“Would you like a delicious protein bar?” Gabe offers.

“Ugh, Starfleet issue? _What_ were you thinking? Wouldn’t you rather…?” She raises her eyebrows, teasing him with her glance, and gently pushes his shoulders so he’s lying on his back, the ration bar forgotten.

This time Kat makes love to Gabriel, attending minutely to every detail. She has let down her braided hair, and it flows over him like her gentle hands and lips, caressing him as she kisses the hollow of his throat … along his jawline … his collarbone … then … he’d not been aware how sensitive his shoulders were … her nose ruffles his chest hair. She softly tongues and kisses his nipples - he shivers with a happy, "Mmm" - then the trail of hair leading down…he groans, his head going back, his hands at her shoulders, moving down her arms, then stilling as … _oh_. She moves back up, her grey-blue eyes are sparkling, her lips curved in a smile as she sees the joy she’s giving him, and she brushes his lips with hers. “Come back,” he says. They share a long, deep kiss. Back down she goes, to plant kisses over his muscled stomach, and lower still ….

“How did you learn to do that so well?” he asks later, breathless, as they lie next to each other.

“Well first, I am an M.D., so I know all the sensitive spots. Second, I read somewhere that if you pretend you’re licking an ice cream cone—”

Gabriel laughs. “Say no more." He strokes her stomach and leans over to kiss her face. "It was a treat, all right.”

.

She’s riding him, slow and easy, her shoulders bright in the sun, her breasts small and perfect; he loves the muscles in her slender arms and torso, the pale column of her throat. She bends forward to kiss his face and, hungrily, his mouth. When she sits back up, she stays absolutely still, except for her hands, stroking the trail of hair on his abdomen.

“Oh … Kat please don’t stop moving … don’t do that…” he sighs in a rush, “please …”

Then she starts tightening her pelvic muscles in rhythm, watching him, and it’s his turn to dig his heels into the sand and arch his back and come.

“Talk about volcanoes,” she grins.

They nap after, then swim again and hold each other in the water and kiss, deliriously happy with the newness of what they’ve discovered with each other.

.

Later, they’re sitting on the tatami, dabbing each other off with the towel, when Gabriel says, “May I tell you something? I don’t say this lightly, because you mean a lot to me.”

She sits back, hesitant. Fear trembles across her eyes.

“I really am falling in love with you,” he murmurs, gathering her close, looking over her head at the cove and inlet beyond.

She slides her arms around him and squeezes his waist tightly, her face against his neck, gasping a sob, then a laugh. “Oh god, Gabe, I thought you were going to say ‘It was nice, _but_.’”

“Nope. It _is_ nice, and I have hopes for a future with you. If you want one.”

“Oh my, yes,” she says softly. “Yes I do.”

After some minutes, she gets to her knees, gazing into his gentle eyes, and hugs his neck, murmuring into his ear. “I’m glad I chose you. Or you chose me. Your kindness and your presence mean everything to me.” She kisses just under his ear, her eyes blurred with tears.

“You're everything to me, Kat.” Gabriel parts from her just enough so he can brush her tears away.

He kisses her face and mouth, lingering at her lips, then says, “Sun sets in about half an hour. We’d better get back.”

.

.

.

Hopes for the future become years, together and apart. And heartfelt letters. Presents, goofy and serious, sent via interplanetary transport or with some friend dragooned into courier duty, “since you’re going to ….”

Liberties on starbases. Vacations. Sometimes, long ones. Barcelona. Tanzania. Mount Seleya. Risa. The snows of Andor. Australia. Rigel. Documenting wildlife. Riding horses, camels, khongrats. Skiing. Racing over green grass. Sand. Waves.

Holding each other: playful, brief hugs, long, nurturing hugs, comforting hugs, the deep embraces of sexual congress. The partnership of a man and a woman, a partnership of souls.

Plans? Eventually, retirement from the ‘fleet while they can still enjoy it, still travel, adventure, volunteer. Whenever Gabriel gets done running all over the galaxy, Kat will go into private practice, or say the hell with work and just be with Gabe and love him, as long as they both shall  live, married or no.

Peace. Love. Couplehood.

The conversation, debates, jokes, kisses and lovemaking never get old.


	6. Chapter 6

**Some Years Later**

**.**

Admiral Katrina Cornwell is in the captain’s quarters on Discovery.

Starbase One is destroyed, her compatriots dead, and who knows how many senior officers survive.

“Computer, privacy,” she snarls. She hears the locks, her body trembling, and she is furious. Furious! She knows, now, why Gabe was _different._ He wasn’t even her Gabriel, _her_ Gabriel might be tortured and dead in that rat bastard’s universe, that cruel place that could produce such a …

“LIAR!” she shouts, smashing a coffee mug. “You FUCKING! _LIAR!!_ You deceiver, you _raper,_ you murderer, you fucking … piece … of SHIT!” Smash. Smash. Smash!

She’s tossing the place, quite literally, picking things up and smashing them on the deck or against the bulkheads. She has never been so righteously angry. She thought she had, she was angry after the last nine months of war, angry that the Federation, especially Starfleet, lost so many souls. And months and  months ago she was angry on Gabe’s behalf when he lost the Buran and he had PTSD and she was concerned for him and the Board questioned him so closely and _he_ – the imposter – answered all their questions cool as anything when he had actually _murdered_ Gabriel’s crew. Murdered. His. Crew. His _whole_ _crew_ …

“FUCKING LIAR!” She screams it now. Her throat is raw. There is nothing left to smash. His quarters are spare, Spartan. _He_ probably left everything in the other universe. “GOD … DAMNED … FUCKING LIAR! You probably killed my Gabriel, too …” She sinks to her knees and sobs, ugly, diaphragm-jerking, deep sobs, exhaling on a cough, then a yowl, of pain. She lowers herself, almost into a _salaam_ , or the yoga Child Pose, her shins flat on the floor, knees folded tight, butt over feet, her back curved so the side of her face is on the rug but her arms, above her head on the floor, piston her fists up and down, pounding with rage until she exhausts herself and nearly falls asleep.

She sits on the bed, the site, months ago, of her mistrustful pleasure, then deep fear, then humiliation. Tai Chi didn’t help her then because he took her completely by surprise and had a fucking phaser pointed at her head. A phaser set on KILL. And then hastily apologized, probably because he knew she could make him shipless.

“I should have known, _damn_ you,” she moans. _You were not a good lover. Not like my Gabriel. You were watching to see if I bought your act. I see it now but I didn’t really, then, that’s why you wanted drinks first. To_ lull _me. What an idiot I was. The real Gabriel knew me better than that._

_My Gabriel was kind._

Tears come again. She will never feel his arms around her again. She will never be able to make slow love with him again, never see his blue eyes looking back at hers with that spark of devilish humor she so loves.

She sinks down, her head on the pillow, and she realizes it was _his_ , yet it smells like _her_ Gabriel. _Maybe my atavistic senses had me fooled as well as you did._

She knows there are duplicates of them all, or most of them, in the other universe. She knows this because up until a few days ago, she had believed the Discovery’s crew to be dead. She had believed Gabriel to be dead.

.

“Commander Saru to Admiral Cornwell.”

She startles awake, dressed, but mussed, and too warm; her hair is tangled and she sees broken things as she sits up. Things she smashed.

It comes back to her. She breathes deeply to calm herself.

“Commander Saru to Admiral—”

“…Cornwell here,” she says after hitting the comm.

“Our conference is set for fifteen minutes from now, Admiral. I wanted to give you notice.”

“Y-yes. Thank you, Commander. Would you meet me at Observation Deck Two immediately afterward?”

“I will be happy to, Admiral.”

She clicks off, strips, does ten minutes of Tai Chi. Its slow, flowing movements help center her. In the shower, the negative ions of water lift her spirits a tiny bit, and she breathes deeply, symbolically cleansing herself of _him. The bastard poseur._ The sonics have her dry in under 60 seconds, and she’s attired in her uniform, with Tac vest, 90 seconds after that.

.

When she goes into the conference room, there is Lorca’s wooden bowl of fortune cookies on the table. Something Gabriel had on his first desk and every desk in every office or ready room he was assigned thereafter. _The Terran even knew about this?_

But any connoisseur of acting knows, the best actors absorb every possible nuance of a character – habits, dress, grooming, conversation – _and the fortune cookies were always a conversation piece for Gabriel. You took that from him too._

She yanks out her phaser (not set to “kill”), takes quick, careful aim, and zaps the bowl. It dematerializes with a satisfying, fiery _pop!_

“Bastard!” she says.

No one says a word. Lieutenant Stamets raises an eyebrow with what looks like approval. There seems to be no dispute with her word.

And the conference? Ninety-nine percent bad news, one percent hope.

.


	7. Chapter 7

Commander Saru sways into Observation Deck Two, his pace sedate and graceful. He’s like a long-stemmed plant, or maybe a less-gangly giraffe, she thinks. She’s instantly at ease in his presence, somehow. He could be a good diplomat someday.

He inclines his head. “Admiral.”

Cornwell folds her hands behind her back. “Commander, would you like to sit?”

He sinks into a chair. He has a longer way down to go than she does, but his long-fingered hands are on the arms of the chair and he lowers himself as he does everything else, easily.

She jumps up, nervy because of the questions she’s holding. “I’m getting some coffee. Would you like anything?”

“Salted green tea, please.”

Inwardly she winces at the imagined taste, but orders it from the replicator, along with dark coffee. _Black as sin, hot as hell, sweet as love._ A saying that was part of “Gabe and Kat’s world,” now lost to her. Sorrow hits her again and she almost chokes. Still facing the replicator, she adds cream to her coffee and gulps some before she hands Saru his tea.

She breathes deeply, and speaks. “I want to ask you about Captain Lorca.”

The Kelpien tilts his head slightly, intense aquamarine eyes on her. “I will answer to the best of my ability, Admiral.”

“Kelpiens are able to detect threats, aren’t you?”

“We are a prey species on our home world. Our senses to threats are more highly developed than in most races, although they are not infallible. Of course space-faring races tend to be more dominant, alpha species. Members of my race are a rarity in Starfleet.”

She nods, warming her cold hands on the coffee mug. “May I ask why you had no sense of threat from the … poseur … Lorca?”

“I detected no danger from him. I believed he was Discovery’s legitimate captain, that any changes in his personality were due to stress from his experience with the Buran. I’d had some acquaintance with … _Captain_ Lorca before that during training exercises, and he was efficient, demanding sometimes, yet … gentlemanly.”

She swallows more coffee. “Did he … the … _Terran_ … respect the crew?”

“He did, Admiral. I find it most curious that he could behave like a member of our Federation Starfleet, never giving a clue of his background with the Terran Imperial Starfleet.” Saru looks into his tea, then sips some. “Upon consideration, I feel quite fortunate. The Terran Lorca mentored me to some extent, but in his universe, his people farm – and eat – my people.”

“They _eat_ a _sentient species_?”

“It is a very different, more hostile place, for everyone who lives there. In that place Kelpiens are kept like ancient farm animals, fed and fattened … or are used as … slaves. I am reliably informed that the tissue of Kelpiens is regularly consumed, and our threat ganglia are a particular delicacy….”

He closes his eyes; one hand rises to flatten against his stomach. “At any rate, Capt— er, the Terran Lorca’s knowledge of this ship was remarkably thorough.”

“I think he had very good sources of information about the ship and how to behave as a Starfleet officer.” _And as Gabriel Lorca in private, except for the style of his lovemaking._ “And Commander, if the real Captain Gabriel Lorca is alive somewhere, I plan to find him once this is all over. But that’s just between you and me.”

“I will do everything in my power to help you, Admiral. If the Terran Lorca is any indication … the Terran Lorca _before_ he truly revealed himself … then the human _Captain_ Lorca is much to be admired. I studied his career and available records before I assumed my post on Discovery.”

“And you had absolutely no idea that … the _Terran_ … was not … not him.” She swallows, fighting tears.

Saru shakes his head sadly. “Regrettably, I did not. This … other Lorca seemed to believe in camaraderie, although he kept himself apart from the crew. He could be abrupt, demanding and impatient, but I have served with commanding officers with similar personalities. They prize efficiency. They are not so generous with their time or care as Captain Georgiou was to Michael Burnham and most of Shenzhou’s crew, for example, but they practice the ideals of the Federation. And … Lorca did give praise where it was due.”

“Yes, I imagine he received the best training possible under the circumstances.”

“You believe he was in contact with Captain Lorca?”

“I believe he may have _tortured_ Gabr—Captain Lorca, possibly to death.” She turns her head away and dashes a tear from her cheek. And breathes deeply. Mentally does the swaying movement of hands and legs, “Passing Clouds,” physically bends her knees ever so slightly and balances her weight, centered through the arches of her feet and her lower belly, the center of _chi._

Saru inclines his head and maintains silence. It is not a tense silence, it is a space for Kat to resume her senior officer demeanor. She swallows again, pinches the bridge of her nose, and says, “Thank you, Commander.”

The Kelpien nods. “I’m glad to have been of help.” He rises … and rises, inclines his head, putting his hands at his trouser seams, and departs with that curious elegance.

Kat stands up, puts the mugs in the recycler, then goes to the viewport. The stars are brilliant in space. _The night we went to see the Perseids, Gabriel, we snuggled like a comfortable longtime couple. And we kind of were, three years into our relationship, years broken up as they were with our assignments. What a gift you gave me. Love, true and tender. I never felt so loved by anyone. I miss you. And I promise I will look for you every day for the rest of my life, if that’s what it takes. If you died, I’ll look for proof of it; and if you still live (please!), I’ll do whatever it takes for you to heal and become the man you were._

 _And Saru … thank you for the gift of knowing I was not alone in being blind to that …_ other _._

.

.

/\     End     /\

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may write more in future in this Kat/Gabriel universe, depending on reactions/response. I haven't figured out how to have Kat search for Gabriel yet. She would need Discovery to navigate into the other universe. Would Starfleet Command sanction that? Hmmm. PrimeLorca would have a lot of info on the MU ... IF there is ever another incursion.
> 
> Meanwhile I have a bit of fluff I'm working on, but there are other heavy Kat/Gabriel works underway.


End file.
